


Psychology 101

by andchaos



Series: Destiel Oneshots (for a series of tumblr prompts) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Cas meets Dean in a bar. Things get dirty quick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychology 101

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from tumblr:  
> "How about Dean: bad boy, alluring.. Y'know. Dean. And Cas: innocent, wide-eyed, (and adorable, stuttering and all that good stuffs)."

Castiel was going to kill Anna.

 

No, seriously. If she brought him to one more club when he asked for a quiet place he study he was going to sharpen his pencil enough to stab it through her heart, because he actually needed to pass this class and sweaty, grinding teenagers were not exactly conducive to an A. He was shitty enough at psychology in the first place, and his twin sister wasn’t exactly helping.

 

“This great place just opened up a few blocks away,” she’d promised, tugging insistently on his arm, “It’s dim and quiet and perfect for studying, okay?”

 

Of course, she’d ditched him the minute they’d arrived, leaving him to squeeze his way to an empty table in the corner because even though he had the keys, he was also supposed to be sober driving. Fucking Anna. Fucking Anna in her fucking pretty dress and her fucking penchant for night clubs and twisting truths.

 

“You look like you could use a drink to loosen you up,” a rough voice said above him, and Cas looked up, his mouth falling open slightly at the intrusion, his brain a little fried.

 

It didn’t hurt that the stranger was _gorgeous_. Cas swung more ways than a goddamn tire swing, but he’d never seen someone this attractive, let alone a leather-jacketed boy in one of his sister’s bars. And he’d certainly never been attracted to jeans that tight, because they were just begging for attention and Cas, right at this moment, kind of wanted to give them the appropriate attention.

 

Except he had a psych test tomorrow. Right. Psychology. Psychology that he definitely needed to study for.

 

“O-okay.” Wait, what the fuck?

 

But at this, the handsome stranger grinned, so Cas wasn’t overly displeased at his rogue mouth except for the fact that it had chosen to stutter. He chastised himself internally while the boy made for the bar. He got through three more questions about body language and persuasion before the boy returned, sliding immediately into the seat opposite Cas, passing him one drink and bringing the other to his mouth.

 

Now that Cas was looking at him properly, he could tell that he had misjudged; he was less boy and more man, probably closer to twenty-five than Cas’s 19 (but right now he was praising high heaven for fake IDs). He was rocking the flannel somehow and had the brightest green eyes Cas had ever seen.

 

And he had just bought Cas a drink. Okay.

 

“I’m Dean,” said the mystery boy, and Cas nodded enthusiastically.

 

After a full minute of silence, he jumped and said, “Oh! I’m—I’m Castiel. Cas. People—my friends—uh, they call me Cas.”

 

“Cas. Cool,” said Dean, leaning back in his side of the booth, sipping nonchalantly from his glass of what looked like whiskey. Cas tentatively slipped his finger around the rim of his own glass, not drinking.

 

“Why exactly did you choose this place to study, Cas?” asked Dean, and god if him saying his name wasn’t the hottest thing ever. The room, already packed and sweltering, shot up another ten degrees.

 

“M-my sister lied to me,” he said shakily, pointing into the crowd. Dean turned to look, and Cas took the opportunity to gulp down a large portion of his drink before he helpfully supplied, “She’s the redhead with the biker asshole.”

 

For a split second, Cas thought Dean might ditch him to go hit on his sister—it would definitely not be the first time. Instead, Dean turned back to him, eyes wide, and after a few seconds, threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

 

“I don’t know. Personally, I think I’ve got the better sibling,” said Dean, leaning across the table.

 

“You haven’t _got_ me,” said Cas, and he meant to sound offended and menacing, but he clearly did not have the intended effect because Dean just smirked.

 

“True,” he allowed, watching Cas so closely that he took another large gulp of whatever was currently burning a path down his throat. Holy shit, he hoped this wasn’t roofied. He hadn’t even thought of that.

 

“You’re not drinking yours,” observed Cas, only it sounded like more of a question.

 

Something sparked behind Dean’s eyes as his lips crooked up in a half-smile. “Why, Cas,” he said quietly, very, very close to him now—and when had Cas leaned across toward him? If he stretched a little further he could meet him in the middle—“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

 

Cas blinked at him. “No, I was just—”

 

“Do you _want_ to get me drunk?”

 

“No, I swear—”

 

“Because you know, anything could happen once I start drinking. I’m open to all sorts of new things when I’m drunk, you get my drift, Cas? I would let you do pretty much anything to me, probably even right here in this booth.”

 

Yeah, fuck psychology. Cas suddenly arched forward, closing the distance between them, crushing their mouths together, and one of Dean’s hands reached up immediately to card through his hair before pulling a little, and god help him, but Cas _moaned_ instead of leaning away.

 

Dean chuckled against his lips and pulled back enough to mumble out, “Holy shit, okay? We should—should go—there’s a bathroom in back—”

 

Well, that sounded grimy and disgusting, but he had just reduced this tight-pants-wearing, leather-jacket-shrouded man to stutters so who the fuck cared. He nodded, probably too eagerly, and Dean’s hand slipped from his hair, down his arm and threaded through his fingers as he tugged Cas out of the booth and headed for the dance floor. When they hit the crowd, he dragged Cas even closer to his body for insurance, except that gave him ample opportunity to reach his free hand behind him and hook a finger into one of Cas’s belt loops for a second before trailing down and grabbing his ass. Cas gasped and leaned automatically into him, which made Dean swear—interesting—and turn around suddenly, so they were pressed face-to-face. He wasn’t that much taller than Cas, actually, which was rather a stupid thing to note at a time like this.

 

“We could dance,” Cas suggested, free hand tangling in Dean’s hair.

 

Dean smirked, though it looked shakier than before. “You sure you can handle that?” he said, rolling his hips down for emphasis.

 

Cas really, really wanted to take the challenge—but not as much as he wanted to have Dean all to himself, in any way he wanted, especially the ways not necessarily applicable to public areas. So he shook his head, let Dean bark out a laugh, and allowed himself to be pulled further into the crowd until finally they were on the other side.

 

The bathroom was as expected—gross and lined with stalls, nearly empty. Of course, the few occupants were probably too drunk to care, so Cas didn’t protest when Dean pulled him down to the furthest stall, the handicapped one, and pushed him inside. He followed quickly after, clicking the lock shut before pressing Cas against it, reclaiming his mouth in a hot tangle of tongues that heated Cas even more than he had been outside.

 

Dean dragged his lips down Cas’s jaw and to his neck, sucking a hickey into the exposed skin there that Anna was definitely going to inquire about later, but Cas really didn’t care at the moment because Dean was whispering, “You like grinding, Cas?” into his ear and pressing a leg between both of his and holy fucking _shit_.

 

Cas hastily pulled Dean’s mouth back to his, desperate to stifle his moans in the non-vacant bathroom as the man started rolling his hips down again, dirtier than he had on the dance floor, and Cas bucked up to meet him. The kissing was messy and heated and broken often to press more marks into each other’s skin, and it took many ten minutes of this for Cas to realize that he was about to reveal himself as a very horny teenager. Dean seemed to realize what was going to happen; Cas’s rhythm stuttered and he pulled back from Dean’s tongue, biting down instead on the hollow over his collarbone.

 

He felt like he had been struck by lightning. Cas had orgasmed before—with men and women and everyone in between—but not like this. First of all, Dean was definitely more attractive than any of them, but it was more than that. He wasn’t just good-looking; Cas felt some kind of strange, internal chemistry ignite within him, leading him to rut desperately against him in a dirty, seedy bar bathroom until he came. Yeah, Cas enjoyed sex, but he was usually more…charming about it.

 

“You okay?” asked Dean, and Cas nodded as he came down—right down to his knees, actually. He may be nineteen and easily satiated, but Dean probably wasn’t going to get off that easy. Cas broke into his jeans easily—he was much more composed when Dean wasn’t talking and when he couldn’t see his face.

 

Maybe Dean felt some of the same preternaturally instinctive heat, because he came more quickly than Cas would have expected. He leaned his forehead against the stall door as he did, and when he could function properly he fisted his hands into the shoulders of Cas’s jacket and pulled him back to his feet and into a sloppy, sated kiss.

 

They leaned against each other as they shouldered the door open and stumbled back into the club. No one looked disturbed or disgusted, or even looked twice at them, even though it was obvious and the guy washing his hands, at least, definitely knew. Fuck it.

 

When they hit Cas’s table again, Dean bid a quick farewell—just a wink and a kiss and a hand sliding into his back pocket and squeezing lightly. He nipped at Cas’s lip as he pulled away, smirking, as he slunk back into the crowd.

 

Cas turned back, prepared to pretend like he was going to finish his work, only to be met with the wide eyes of his twin sister, who was alone and finishing off a beer.

 

“What was _that_?” she asked, still staring incredulously, but Cas just shook his head.

 

“You ready to go?” he sighed, beginning to gather his books.

 

“Wait—Cas!” But he had already turned for the door.

 

She caught up at the car, babbling about her night and demanding details about Cas’s, but as much as he insisted he had just gone out for a dance, she refused to believe him. As she bemoaned the lack of trust, Cas rolled his eyes and slipped into the driver’s seat—only to be met with the strange sound of crackling paper as he sat down. He fumbled in his back pocket for a second, fingers closing around something, and he brought the object curiously into his lap and opened it.

 

A phone number. Anna saw it and began a whole new round of questions, but Cas just smiled, slipped it into his jacket, and started the car.

 

“I swear, he bought me one drink and we went for a dance!” he insisted as they pulled back onto campus in front of her building.

 

“Right,” she said, smiling wickedly.

 

Cas sighed, more than a little worried. “What?”

 

“Uh, Cas? You’ve got come in your hair.” She was laughing wildly as she jumped out of the car before he could grab her. Realistically, she was probably more than a little drunk, as she ran for the door to her building, still cackling with her head thrown back.

 

Cas sighed and pulled her door shut, then leaned back into his seat and shifted back into drive. He was probably going to fail psych, that was true—but it was totally fucking worth it.


End file.
